#of what it's like to live in arthur's shadow

[bonewaryreblogs]

The Justice Society of America vs. the Justice League

This is the first half of the massive post I've been working on, which I've decided to cut in half; part two will be more focused on what the Justice League looks like when the story actually starts in 2004, like membership and different teams within the Justice League, like the Justice Foundation and Justice League Dark.

But for now, enjoy the backstory!

During World War II, Adolf Hitler was interested in supernatural artifacts, ultimately finding the Spear of Destiny around 1940. President Roosevelt called on several superheroes to help defend the USA, as most local superheroes of the time tried to stay out of international conflicts to focus on their own territories. After this initial mission is complete, the group of heroes decide to remain as a team, funded and directed by the United States government, called the Justice Society of America. Founding members were Flash (Jay Garrick), Green Lantern (Alan Scott), Doctor Fate (Kent Nelson), Atom (Al Pratt), Hawkman (Carter Hall), Hourman (Rex Tyler), and Spectre (Jim Corrigan). Several heroes joined shortly after, including Hawkman’s girlfriend/wife Hawkgirl/Hawkwoman (Shiera Sanders/Shiera Hall), Johnny Thunderbolt (John Thunder) with Yz the Thunderbolt, Doctor Mid-Nite (Charles McNider), Starman (Ted Knight), among others. I’m also adding several “older” versions of heroes who might not have originally been associated with the JSA but have more “modern” variants that will be part of the eventual Justice League.

People with superhuman abilities have always existed, one of the earliest being Vandal Savage, but they mostly did one of three things; 1] they swore fealty to a local ruler and worked within an existing system (Alucard, though against his will); 2] they became a local ruler and created their own system (King Arthur); or 3] they worked outside existing systems as a vigilante, usually guided by their own internal moral compass (Robin Hood). These super powered individuals would often be drawn to each other, as allies or enemies, but most would remain local to a specific territory; or if they didn’t have a particular area, they would travel and help whoever happened to be around them at a given time. During the Renaissance, power and authority was more centralized, formalized, and structured, forcing super powered individuals to either fall in line with these systems or sink further into the shadows, becoming “mystery men” as a way to protect themselves and their loved ones. These mystery men were often vilified for not bowing to the government’s will, which led to more secrecy, which led to mistrust from the public, which led to more secrecy, in an ever darkening spiral.

The Justice Society of America is significant because it marked a change in the perception the general public had for these “superheroes” as the JSA preferred to call them. They were no longer mysterious boogey-men to scare kids straight; they were just people, who lived and loved and bought groceries just like anyone else, and who wanted to help others in any way they could. As the globalization of human culture increased through the rest of the 1900s, so too did the influence of superheroes; some thrived on the attention and political power their celebrity status granted them, while others shied away from the spotlight they’d been thrust into, not prepared for the nightmare that is Public Relations.

Over the next few decades, as the idea of superheroes became more mainstream, more local heroes began popping up, as well as some established local heroes releasing their stranglehold on some of their secrets; not all, but enough to humanize themselves to the general public. The idea of public adoration appealed to many, like moths to a flame, which unfortunately tended to draw the wrong crowd for the wrong reasons, saturating the “superhero market” with selfish so-called heroes who only cared about themselves rather than helping people if no one was around to praise them for it. Thankfully, these heroes didn’t last long and folded when faced with an actual threat, which often ended in public humiliation; people were finally starting to catch on to this trend by the 1970s, leading to newer heroes thinking twice before donning a cape and mask.

Three tiers of membership developed within the JSA; full members, part-time members or associates, and non-members that have been endorsed by the JSA who might become members in the future. Of course a more nuanced hierarchy developed over time, as is common among groups of humans, which was loosely based around these tiers but there were always outliers who had more or less respect than their membership status would otherwise grant them. While some were drawn to the JSA for the fame, just an endorsement could make or break a local hero; legitimizing their status as a hero in the publics’ eyes, access to better equipment and training, and, most importantly, access to medical treatment that the government would pay for and an implicit understanding about secret identities from all hospital staff. There were pros and cons for each tier; higher membership meant more responsibility but also more compensation, while lower membership offered more freedom but less access to resources. For example, members were paid based on their time, effort, and how much danger they were put in, but they had no choice but to answer the call to action. Those with just an endorsement weren’t paid at all and had limited access to other resources, but they were allowed to keep their identities a secret from the JSA, which even part-time members had to reveal, though not to the public if they didn’t want to.

Superman was inducted into the JSA fairly quickly after his debut, joining in 1978. The JSA had been around for almost 4 decades by then and its flaws and shortcomings were becoming more and more apparent; while most up-and-coming heroes had grown up with the idea of superheroes being necessary for public safety, the JSA had become increasingly political, rife with in-fighting, and interconnected with the US military. They’d become the USA’s attack dogs internationally and tended to attract those who craved the spotlight via membership more than those who actually wanted to help people, who often stayed at endorsement level. They were getting desperate for new members that could revitalize their image, which inevitably either corrupted the young heroes or disgusted them into leaving.

Trained as a reporter for his day job, Superman quickly uncovered the truth but recognized that the JSA had good bones and structure, despite its corruption. He initially tried to change things from within but realized the corruption and codependence ran too deep. Instead, he began studying the structure of the JSA, figuring out what it did well and how to avoid what it did wrong, all while making plans for his own superhero team, independent of government meddling, and international in scope; if nothing else, it could help superhero teams coordinate with each other as a neutral third party mediator.

Superman wasn’t quiet about the JSA’s shortcomings, but kept his plans for the Justice League mostly to himself; he didn’t want to be kicked out for potentially poaching talent as a competitor, not while he still needed the JSA’s resources to help people. In 1986, Superman approached newly minted CEO Bruce Wayne with his idea; he knew Batman had been approached to join the JSA but had declined and hoped that, despite their rough introduction a few years prior, Wayne Enterprise would agree to be the Justice League’s financial backer, affording them greater independence from any government interference. Bruce had a lot going on at the time and said he’d think about it.

Somewhere around 1990, Wonder Woman debuted and hesitantly joined the JSA, recognizing the corruption (not to mention misogyny) but also its usefulness to her, and was quickly approached by Superman with his new team idea. She was much more comfortable with his plan and eagerly jumped on board, agreeing to be its main leader, but until they could make it happen, she worked on establishing herself as someone the public could trust.

By 1993, Dick Greyson had graduated from sidekick Robin to independent hero Nightwing, Barbra Gordan had well established herself as Batgirl, and Jason Todd was doing well as the second Robin. Feeling more stable, Bruce asked if Clark was still serious about his idea, which he’d now had 7 more years to refine and recruit for. The Justice League finally debuted the next year, lead mostly by Wonder Woman and backed by Superman and Batman as joint seconds-in-command; they purposely never established which of the two had a higher rank and delegated the responsibilities evenly between them based on their strengths. Superman took more of front-facing role with Wonder Woman, as both were generally good with Public Relations, while Batman took on more of a supporting role, doing a lot of the background planning and coordinating to maximize efficiency. Some would compare them to the three arms of the US government, with Wonder Woman as the executive, Superman as the judicial, and Batman as the legislative. While not intentional, it helped people understand their roles and division of power so they didn’t do anything to confirm or deny the parallels.

Their initial lineup consisted of Wonder Woman, Superman, and Batman, along with Flash (Barry Allen), Green Lantern (Hal Jordan), Aquaman (Orin/Arthur Curry), and Martian Manhunter (J’onn J’onzz). After the League proved to be stable and not likely to disband, like most independent superhero teams did, they quickly gained members, especially younger heroes that wanted to change the world without being shackled to a specific government and hamstrung by their politics. Many members also joined as a representative of local superhero teams/government agencies around the world.

[saintsonnet]

if i were to write guinevere, i think she'd have hands like overused fine grit sandpaper and a voice like smoke and eyes like stars that stare right through you, like she knows what you're thinking about her and she is not happy with it. she would be beautiful like hot blown glass and broken like a shattered ceramic ashtray. she is marvellous like the sweet pain of a dark bruise when it first forms and she is not nice. she would not be nice.

you can see, in the way she looks at arthur, that he's her anchor. you can see, in the way she looks at launcelot, that there is envy. there is love and lust but there is also envy, not least because she yearns to tear something apart with her hands just as he does. she is not violent, but she is full of a strength she's forced to repress, and isn't that the same thing?

she would know kay better than anyone else because, in essence, they are the same. nothing more than the king's wife and the king's brother---never guinevere, never kay. they hold the same anger and love, and for guinevere, that's enough for friendship.

she holds life like a broken bird in her broken hands and she breathes joy into kay, into arthur, into lancelot, into the rest of the court. because she knows her role as queen---as a woman. the only feeling she does not dilute and halve is love, and that's what brings her to her knees. she would be weary and she would be kind because she knows the world that arthur has built better than he himself does.

as an image

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Something something Merlin is Arthur's bane.

[moodlesmain]

What I'm Made Of (Sonic Heroes OST) 🤝 With Me (Sonic and the Black Knight OST): Final boss songs who's lyrics apply almost just as much to Sonic as they do to the villain he's facing

[cannotfly]

tags; verses

*❈ ‣ look at you pale and ivory-skinned‚ look at you looking so sad — ( v: canon. )  

*❈ ‣ poor child‚ she needs so much correction: she sings if left alone — ( v: foggs. ) 

*❈ ‣ and we’ll sail the world and see its wonders‚ from the pearls of spain to the rubies of tibet — ( v: post. ) 

*❈ ‣ isn’t that her dainty footstep on the stair? yes‚ isn’t that her shadow on the wall? — ( v: alternate. )  

*❈ ‣ i lived this one wild life‚ i ripped it apart‚ i pushed through the corners with no apologies — ( v: modern. )

*❈ ‣ and though my soul will die with you‚ our child will not be left alone to spend a lifetime wondering how — ( v: single mother. )

*❈ ‣ i have to run away‚ i have to sit and stay; i'm gonna live a life where i'm proud of the way that i spent my days — ( v. hawkins. )  

*❈ ‣ this was an escape plan‚ carefully timed it‚ so let me go and dive into the waves below — ( v: panem. )

*❈ ‣ don’t need a ring for my finger‚ just need a steady hand to hold — ( v: main. feat. anyfight )    

*❈ ‣ chasing our heart’s desire but we go on pretending stories like ours have happy endings — ( v: affair. feat. anyfight ) 

*❈ ‣ if you love me tell me that you love me; if you don't just tell me that you do — ( v: workhouse. feat. anyfight ) 

*❈ ‣ wasn't it gonna be the two of us? weren't we birds of a feather?— ( v: feat. arthur / notefinal. )  

*❈ ‣ for somebody i thought was my savior‚ you sure make me do a whole lot of labor — ( v: feat. riff / notefinal )  

*❈ ‣ i had this feeling as i was falling the sound across the bay was the sound of you calling — ( v: great gatsby. feat. notefinal )

*❈ ‣ only we know what we’ve both been through‚ if i save you will you save me too? — ( v: main. feat. art / notefinal ) 

[nelkcats]

The Great One

Far Frozen is not the only place with carvings of a half-ghost hero, and Danny has been inadvertently traveling between dimensions during his adventures, causing impacts both good and bad.

For one thing, carvings of his battles with Vlad are in Themyscira itself, assessed by an excited young Diana who wonders if such a being really existed, someone who relentlessly pursued evil and fought for justice. The young Amazon spent days admiring the murals, much to the dismay of her mother who was unsure if this happening was a good thing or not. In a way it was part of the reason she decided to leave her island later in life so maybe a mix of both.

Elsewhere, in Nanda Parbat, Ra reflects on murals of a creature bathed in shadows and ice, toxic green eyes that betray his connections to the afterlife and razor sharp fangs. A story for children who fear monsters under their bed, except that his family has proof that it existed, the Lazarus pits only served to confirm their theories. Ra thinks this is what the powerful deserves, immortality.

Even Arthur has found his castle walls filled with carvings of two creatures chasing each other, like day and night. There are tales of how they set the city ablaze in a single day, causing irreparable damage but not taking a single life despite their battles. Beings driven by emotion, persecution and intrigue, but without being benevolent or malevolent. A sample that any creature is imperfect, in a way he thinks it is poetic.

Everyone interprets these beings in their own way, creating their own legends from the anecdotes that were recorded by their ancestors. They never have the same title, no one decides on a name and no one seems to agree on whether these beings are benevolent or malevolent. Whether they are enemies, friends, rivals, or something else.

For some they are a moral lesson, for others a guide, in some cases they are considered righteous heroes, while in others they are the worst enemies of the living, the only sure thing is that they are recognized, one way or another.

Of course, this leads to disaster when Danny decides to explore the dimensions connected to the Infinite Realms.

[asksonicverse]

Welcome to the Sonic Verse!

Here, different versions of Sonic and Shadow are inexplicably trapped in this big white room with strange properties…

How did they get here? How will they get out? All to find out!

For now, questions and other items are occasionally dropped from the ceiling! Let’s meet everyone, shall we?

Meet our main cast of Sonic’s!

*Snap is from a little bit after the Sonic Adventure 2 games. A reference… to something?

*Ego comes from the Sonic X Anime. Named for the weird confident way he talks.

*King Arthur is a “fanon” take on what a real King Arthur Sonic could be like from Sonic and the Black Knight.

*Classic hails from the older Sonic games, named after his era. He cannot/does not talk.

*Prism comes from Sonic Prime. He’s got a bit of experience with this alternate universe stuff…

*Pipsqueak is from the Sonic & Friends shorts and merch line.

*Bandi comes from the Sonic Boom universe, named after his Bandanna and Bandages.

*Latch comes from the Sonic Live Action Movie verse, named after his connected eyes.

*Eight originates from the Sonic IDW comics, placed just after the eradication of the metal virus, he spends most of his time catching up on sleep.

And now onto our Shadows!

*OG comes from the Sonic Adventure 2 games, noticeably Low-Poly along with Snap…

*Mania, bastard, comes from the Sonic X Anime.

*Sir Lancelot is from Sonic and the Black Knight: a version of Shadow who’s always gone by Lancelot.

*Little guy is from the Sonic & Friends shorts and merch line.

*Paradox is from the Sonic Prime universe! Out of everyone, he and Prism are taking the lead on finding out what’s going on.

*Boost heeds from the Sonic Boom universe. He is the most aggressive and grumpy of all the Shadows.

*Reeves comes from the Sonic Live Action Movie verse. Latch give him the nickname based on a so called “national treasure” whatever that means.

*Shade is from the Sonic IDW Comics. Likely one of the weaker Shadows at the moment unfortunately.

—

As a warning, this blog will contain SHIPPING!

Mainly Sonadow (Prime and SATBK) and Sonamy (Boom and others possibly)

Please keep in mind: I have A LOT of Asks. I will pick and choose which asks to answer according to how I’m feeling, the current story, etc. If your ask is not chosen, it’s not personal.

Anyways, stick around and ask questions! They’ll be opened almost always! But it may be awhile before I get to them! ;)

-

[ START HERE! ]

[midnighvtm4ss]

Oh you sweet, poisonous thing

summary: just Arthur yearning and being jealous of reader and Javier. Enjoy😽

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

content: fluff, jealousy, a hint of angst maybe ?? idk

wc: 1,8k

a/n: *taps into the mic* heyy,,, how y’all doing *voice echoes, crickets can be heard in the distance* so i kinda disappeared from tumblr ik. I went through a rough period and I thought a lot about what to do with this account. I lost all motivation to write for a while ngl, but after some thinking i decided that no matter what I’ll keep writing and posting here. After all this was and still is my little safe space where i can just forget about my life and post silly things about cowboys sooo yeah have some Arthur yearning because we should bring back yearning in 2025. ok i yapped enough bah byee

The cracking sound of the campfire travels softly in the center of camp, casting long, flickering shadows that stretch and shift over the familiar faces of the gang, dancing on their features to the sound of the soft music leaving Javier’s guitar.

It had been a rare, uneventful day—the kind where, surprisingly, nothing went wrong, and the world seemed to hold its breath afraid to burst the serene and quiet bubble that engulfed all round the camp. The stillness settled over the gang’s members like a balm, soothing old wounds and lifting everyone’s spirits. By evening, an easy carefree air had taken root, boosted by a few shared drinks and Javier’s guitar.

You sit near the fire, sandwiched between Karen and John, the blonde slouched lazily at your side, her cheeks flushed from the too many whiskey glasses she downed. Javier is in a contagious good mood, sitting on the ground near John strumming another lively tune as he leans toward you, his bronze skin glowing in the campfire’s light and he’s grinning like at you like the charmer he is.

“Why don’t you sing with me, cariño,” he says, his voice playfully teasing. A chorus of groans and exaggerated complaints come from around the campfire, the gang all too eager to tease you about the first and fortunately the last time you sang around the campfire in Horseshoe Overlook after you had too many to drink. You remember waking up the morning after with a terrible headache and the sweet memory of laughter shared around the warmth of the campfire.

You laugh at their reaction, shaking your head. “I think I’ll save everyone’s ears this time, thank you.”

Javier chuckles and with that resumes playing, his voice low and smooth. His energy is infectious, pulling easy smiles and a few soft laughs from everyone. But in the back of your mind, you can feel that there’s a subtle shift in the air—a pull, a presence that tugs at your attention like a ping you can’t ignore. It’s faint at first, almost imperceptible, but it grows stronger, undeniable, familiar. You glance toward the edge of camp, and as suspected there he is.

He’s leaning against one of the wooden posts near the horses, half swallowed by the shadows, the dim firelight barely reaching the brim of his worn hat. His broad shoulders are hunched, arms crossed tightly over his chest like he’s trying to protect himself, to keep something away though you’re not sure he even knows what it is. His aqua eyes are sharp even in the shadows, and they’re fixed directly on you.

As the weight of his gaze settles over you like a heavy fog, thick and tangible, despite the distance between you, a shiver runs down your spine. Your chest tightens, as if the very air around him has thickened with unspoken things.

You’ve known him long enough to feel a quiet storm building in the depths of his quiet, unshakable composure. It’s not indifference nor anger. It’s something else—something raw and unspoken but you can’t, and maybe won’t, put a name on it.

When Javier nudges you playfully, you force yourself to focus back on him, offering him a smile that you hope conceals the tension swirling inside of you. Still, the weight of Arthur’s gaze doesn’t leave you, not even as the evening stretches on.

As the night deepens, the fire crackles low. One by one, people begin to drift off, leaving just you, Tilly, Lenny, Javier, and Karen around the fire. Tilly, who had joined your little circle a few hours earlier, is lively chatting with Lenny about some gossip she’d overheard in town, her voice bright with excitement seemingly unphased by the late hour. Meanwhile, Karen has fallen asleep with her head resting on your shoulder, undoubtedly drooling a bit on your blouse. This leaves you and Javier alone, the conversation between you two flowing easily, until he eventually sets his guitar aside with a stretch, breaking the comfortable atmosphere.

“Already going to bed ?” you tease, nudging him gently on the side. “Won’t you play me another song before you go to sleep ?”

He smirks, shaking his head with a wink.

“Tomorrow.” He promises winking at you. He stands up and disappears into the shadows of the night. After a few minutes Karen stirs awake, mumbling something about needing another drink before bed, lazily getting up on her feet, shuffling toward the camp’s supply.

After that it’s just you, Tilly and Lenny sitting near the dying fire. From your peripheral vision you can see the dark silhouette of Arthur sitting at the worn wooden round table under the tall tree in camp. You don’t look at him, not directly, but you feel his presence like a thread pulling between you. You sit there, looking at the fire contemplating if approaching him or calling it a night.

When you finally stand, your feet move before your mind can catch up with your actions. You carefully walk towards him, finding him hunched slightly over the table, his broad shoulders tense as he stares down into the nearly empty glass in his hand.

“Mind if I join you ?” you say pausing a few feet away. The sound of your voice softly filling the cold air around you both.

Arthur doesn’t immediately look up, his focus still fixed on the amber liquid swirling in his glass. You nearly contemplate leaving when after a long moment, he tips his head in a slow, deliberate nod. “Suit yourself.”

You take a seat across from him, your hands folding in your lap playing with a few loose threads as you settle into the quiet. For a long moment, neither of you speak. The noise of the evening has faded away, leaving the camp wrapped in the soft rustle of trees and the distant sound of crickets.

“Tired ?” you finally ask, your voice hesitant, breaking the silence.

Arthur huffs a low breath, his eyes never leaving the glass. “Long day,” he mutters, a simple response that tells you nothing.

You nod, though his answer feels like a wall, a quick, easy way to avoid revealing something deeper. There’s something bothering him, and maybe it’s the alcohol in your system or maybe you simply care too much for him but you’re determined to find out what.

“Javier kept everyone entertained tonight,” you say lightly, your words casual, trying to spark a conversation, though you’re watching him closely.

Arthur’s grip on his glass tightens just enough for his knuckles to go pale against the clear glass. “Yeah,” he replies, his tone flat. “He’s good at that.”

The space between you feels heavier now, filled with something unspoken, a tension that neither of you acknowledges directly. You lean back in your chair, letting the silence settle between you, but you can’t ignore the flicker of his eyes as they meet yours, then quickly shift away like he’s afraid of what might show if he stares at yours too long.

“What’re you drinking ?” you ask after a moment, breaking the quiet.

“Whiskey.”

“‘S that the good whiskey Pearson’s been hiding, or the usual watered down crap ?”

Arthur’s lips twitch, almost imperceptibly, clearly fighting a smile. “Usual crap,” he murmurs. “Pearson ain’t that generous.”

You laugh softly, the sound easing some of the tension that’s built between you. But still, it lingers, just beneath the surface, like something you both know but can’t put into words.

“You seemed quiet tonight,” you say after a pause, studying him closely.

Arthur shrugs, lifting his glass to his lips, the movement slow, as if every motion is carefully measured.

“Didn’t feel like talkin’.”

You watch him, your gaze tracing the line of his jaw, his wet lips and the way his fingers absently trace the rim of his glass. He’s not being completely honest—that much you know, but you’ve learned to read between the spaces of his words.

“Or maybe you just didn’t like the company,” you offer, your tone playful but with an edge to it.

Arthur’s eyes snap to yours, sharp and unmoving. “I didn’t say that,” he replies, his voice low, almost a growl.

He holds your gaze a beat longer than necessary, and you feel the weight of it settle deep in your chest, making your breath hitch. There’s something in his eyes, something raw, vulnerable that makes your heart stutter. You’re not sure if he sees how your composure falters, but he’s the first to look away, tipping his hat lower over his brow to shield his expression.

You’ve always hated when he does that—you’ve always hated the way he uses it to put a distance between you, but now more than ever you hate it because it feels like the wall between you is growing thicker and you’re not sure if you can get through anymore.

“You’re a hard man to figure out Arthur Morgan,” you say softly, the teasing edge gone from your voice. He doesn’t answer right away, and when he does, it’s in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe that’s for the best.”

You bite your lower lip in frustration but then you force yourself to swallow down your disappointment. The conversation shifts then, moving toward more trivial things like the weather, the horses, Pearson’s latest disaster with the stew. But even as you talk, you know that there’s another conversation happening in the spaces between words, in the glances you exchange, in both your body language, in the way the silence sometimes wraps itself around you both.

You don’t speak of it. You don’t name it. Neither of you can, but you know it’s there.

“Good night Arthur,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended. You give him a sweet smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, before you stand, the weight of your own tiredness forcing you to seek the sweet embrace of your bed.

He doesn’t reply right away, just gives a slow tip of his hat. “Night.”

As you start to take a few steps away from the table, you feel his gaze on your back—steady, unwavering. It feels like it’s burning into your skin.

You glance over your shoulder, just once, and meet his eyes. For a moment, they’re distant, almost lost, like he’s somewhere far away in thought. But as your gaze lingers, you catch something else, something in the way his eyes soften, the barely perceptible softening of his eyebrows. It’s not a look of anger or frustration that he gives you, no, he’s looking at you with something deeper, something raw.

It’s the kind of look that makes your chest tighten, a sweet warmth settling between your ribs. He doesn’t need to say anything, you can feel it in the glance between you—the weight of all the things neither of you will dare to speak aloud.

In that brief moment, you understand. And it’s enough to leave you walking away with butterflies storming in your stomach and the strange sense that you’ve just shared something deep, something fragile with him without ever needing to say a word.

[dawnchorus-if]

‎ ‎‎

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ Your sister is dead, murdered and mutilated and left to rot in a brothel like a sickly dog. You finally know your purpose: revenge.

DAWN CHORUS is an 18+ interactive fiction about death, love, and the song of new morning. Demo TBA.

You live in The Rocks, a decaying settlement in the shadowed outskirts of the kingdom, Cape Lyra. Once a cozy village, The Rocks has withered into a decrepit ruin since the assassination of King Cedric. Queen Lyra, for whom the kingdom was named, became consumed by grief and neglected the outer villages. Now, The Rocks is a place where even the birds come to die.

Desperate to earn money for the both of you, your sister ventured to Cape Lyra with her best friend, Jax. Only Jax returned, covered in your sister's blood, with a hazed description of her killer. Driven by the need for retribution, you and Jax set out for the kingdom, determined to find and punish the sick soul who took your sister's life. When revenge is your only remaining purpose, a life for a life only seems fair.

You hope.

‣‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎Fully customise yourself, from your name and appearance to your sexuality to your greatest woes and wants. Choose your approach to grief, to anger, to revenge—drown in your sorrows or push them aside in favour of a... different kind of vice. Curate a story that revolves around who you are, and what you'll stand for.

‣‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ Explore relationships with six different romanceable characters, and a multitude of other characters to befriend (or behead). Interact with a diverse cast of characters, each with their own impact to leave on the story. Just... be careful who you trust, some people might not be who they say they are.

‣‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ Find out what really happened to your sister. Hunt down her killer, or killers, and determine your own ability to play executioner on her behalf. Open doors to dark rooms in the royal family history, find out that there's a lot more darkness in Cape Lyra than there is light.

‣‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ Get involved in the politics of Cape Lyra. The people can only be neglected for so long before they start to revolt, right? What side of history will you be on? Or will you be too blinded by grief to care who gets hurt?

‣‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ Exorcise a demon, maybe.

DAWN, born amidst the morning birdsong, the cherished youngest child of King Cedric and Queen Lyra, and the heir apparent to the throne. They don't often get to see outside of Cape Lyra's walls, so don't fault them for being a little juvenile in their knowledge of the world, it's not born from a lack of desire. There's a youthful charm to Dawn, and a deep-seated eagerness to know more about the kingdom they'll one-day rule. [M/F, 22]

ASA KYNES, climbing the ranks as one of Cape Lyras most dedicated royal guards, Kynes is as formidable as they are resolute. You won't get past them very easily, they've got keen judgement skills, and you're up to something, they're sure of it. Kynes is loyal, and more than willing to lay their life down in servitude to the monarchy. Getting Kynes to open up is hard, but may be more than worth it. [M/F, 26]

JAX HANSLEY, your sisters best friend and now your accomplice in avenging her. Jax is royalty in The Rocks, charismatic beyond belief and has been teasing you since you were just starting to walk. Extravagant and always looking for something to do, you'll never find yourself bored around them. Plus, you couldn't get rid of Jax even if you wanted to, they're the closest thing to family that you have left. [M/F, 24]

CERYS SELINE, owner and face of The Rabbits Foot, Cape Lyra's busiest tavern. Cerys is a stern woman who works her ass off day and night, but there's a sweet undertone to the way she speaks: something nurturing. She's a pillar of the kingdom, well-connected and respected. There's more to her than meets the eye, sure, but for now she's more than willing to aid you in finding your sisters killer. [F, 26]

ARTHUR CASE, a priest who has been ousted from the kingdom for reasons he just won't speak aloud. Left with only one leg and crumbs of his faith, he's living in his late father's old church a short trek from the kingdoms gates. Pop in for a service one day, maybe confessionals don't always have to be one-sided. [M, 29]

??? — something cold in the shadows, and its eyes are on you.

DAWN CHORUS contains some heavy topics, such as graphic depictions of death, violence, drug use, explicit language and skippable sexual content. Classism is also a present topic. Readers discretion is advised.

reblogs r so appreciated and asks are more than welcome ^^

[allthemeniveloved]

Do I look like him?

Summary: John finds himself torn between the love you’ve built together and the ghost of the man who made it all possible, wondering if he’ll ever be enough.

wc: 2,313

Warnings: a little smut, angst, fluff, missing Arthur, body worship, hurt comfort

ao3 link

Inspired by Tyler, the Creator's song "Like Him (feat. Lola Young)" as well as a phenomenal edit I saw on tiktok the other day from @ arthursnipple with this song.

"That's it, baby," he rasped, pounding into you with little restraint. "Take what ya need."

He could feel you tightening around him, your nails digging into his back as you urged him on. And God help him, he wanted to give you everything - to make you scream his name until your throat was raw.

"You like that, sweetheart?" he grunted, angling his hips to hit that sweet spot deep inside you.

John could feel his own release building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter at the base of his spine. But he held back, determined to bring you to the brink first. He wanted to watch you come undone on his cock, to see the look on your face as you shattered in his arms. So he repositions your leg over his shoulder before doubling his efforts, his hips snapping into yours with brutal force as he watches your breasts bounce perfectly. Your lover pressed open-mouthed kisses to your ankle as you begged for him to keep going, to keep filling you up, just as you had done so many times before.

“That’s my baby,” he grunted, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You moved your hand to cover his on your waist, and the soft contact caused him to meet your gaze.

Do I look like him?

The thought flashed across his mind faster than he could realize, and the startling thought caused a stutter in his hips. You pretend not to notice as he softly shakes the thought from his mind, but his eyes left yours as quickly as he found them. 

John's hips snapped forward again, driving into you with renewed intensity. The bed frame creaked and groaned beneath you, threatening to give way under the force of your passion. But John barely noticed, too consumed by the unease he suddenly felt deep in his chest. 

“Cum for me, baby,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire and desperation, “I wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.” And with a final, intense thrust of his hips, you shattered in his arms, body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over you. John worked you through it all, prolonging your climax until you were boneless and completely spent beneath him. After allowing you a moment to catch your breath, he pulls out of you and quickly finds the bandana on his nightstand to wipe up his mess. He’s slow and deliberate about it, studying every curve of your body while avoiding your gaze. 

“You didn’t finish,” you whisper. 

“That’s okay, sweetheart.” 

-

The night was still, the only sounds coming from the soft rustle of the wind through the trees and the rhythmic creak of the old wood frame beneath the weight of the two of you. The room was dark save for the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains. He couldn’t sleep. He rarely does these days.

His gaze fixed on the ceiling, his thoughts heavy and tangled. Your hand rested lightly on his chest, your fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. A gesture so small, but one that made his heart ache with the weight of everything he didn’t know how to say.

You were here, with him, at Beecher’s Hope. After everything—after the chaos of the gang, the bloodshed, the loss—you had chosen to stay. Chosen him. And yet, as John lay there, staring into the darkness, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else’s shadow lingered between you.

Arthur.

He hadn’t spoken the name out loud in years, but it lived in his mind like an uninvited guest. The man who had saved him, the man who had been everything he wasn’t—steady, loyal, selfless. The man you had loved first.

John had never blamed you for it. How could he? Arthur was easy to love in ways John never felt he was. He had been your rock, your safe haven, in the chaos of the life you’d all been trapped in. John wasn’t blind to the fact that if Arthur hadn’t been taken by sickness, hadn’t sacrificed everything for the people he cared about, you wouldn’t be lying here now. Not with him.

His chest tightened at the thought, and his free hand moved to rest over yours, his fingers brushing the back of your hand as if to reassure himself that you were real.

John had always felt like a man playing a role he wasn’t fit for. Husband, father, lover—they were words that didn’t sit right on his tongue, responsibilities that felt like borrowed clothes he couldn’t quite fill. And yet here he was, with you beside him, Jack in the next room, and a life that felt almost too good to be true.

John takes a long drag on his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that curls lazily toward the ceiling. “You think about him a lot, don’t you?”

You stiffen at the question, fingers wrapping tightly against the fabric of his union suit, you don’t need to ask who he means. There’s only one man whose shadow stretches this far, even after all these years.

“John…” you start, your voice soft but edged with warning.

“I’m not mad,” he says quickly, cutting you off. His eyes meet yours, and you see something in them that makes your chest tighten—an understanding that feels heavier than anger ever could. “I just… I just want to know.”

You look away, your gaze drifting to the fireplace in the bedroom. The flames flicker and dance, and for a moment, you see Arthur’s face in your mind’s eye—his crooked smile, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you. You swallow hard, the memory sharp and bittersweet.

“Sometimes,” you finally admit. “I think about what he’d say… what he’d think about all this.”

“All this,” John echoes, his voice quieter now. He crushes his cigarette butt in the ashtray on the nightstand, running a hand through his dark hair. “You mean us.”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. You know this is a conversation you’ve both been avoiding for years, but it was bound to happen eventually. The ghost of Arthur Morgan has always been a part of your relationship, even if neither of you wanted to admit it.

John rolls to face you, propping himself up on his elbow, his lips pursed together. “Do you… do you ever wonder if it woulda been different? If he hadn’t…”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your voice sharper than you intended. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Don’t do that, John. It’s not fair. To him. To us.” 

He nods, but the tension in his jaw doesn’t ease. “I know it ain’t fair.” 

The words hang in the air, heavy and unspoken until now. You feel the sting of them, not because they’re cruel, but because they’re true. Arthur had saved you in more ways than one, even in death. He’d given you the strength to carry on, the courage to find something resembling happiness again. And yes, he’d brought you to John, even if not intentionally.

“Sometimes I wonder if he’d hate me for this,” he murmurs. “For bein’ with you. For tryin’ to give you the kind of life he wanted to.”

You squeeze his hand tightly, willing him to feel the truth of your words. “Arthur wouldn’t hate you, John. He’d want me to be happy. He’d want you to be happy too.”

He lets out a heavy sigh. The firelight plays over his features, casting shadows under his eyes and across his jaw. For a moment, you think he’s going to let the conversation drop, but then he leans over and cups your face gently, his calloused thumb brushing away the tears you didn’t even realize were falling.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough,” he says, his voice raw and unsteady. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life tryin’ to be.” 

Before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you. It’s not a hesitant kiss, or a questioning one—it’s fierce, full of need and vulnerability and love. His lips press against yours with a desperation that speaks of all the things he can’t say, all the fears he carries but refuses to burden you with. You gasp against him, your hands clutching at his shirt as if to ground yourself, and he deepens the kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair.

The world outside the cabin fades, the weight of the past momentarily lifting as his warmth surrounds you. When he finally pulls back, both of you breathless, his forehead rests against yours. His eyes are glassy, his breathing uneven.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words as much a plea as a promise.

“I love you too, John. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He pulls you into his side as you dry your tears on the fabric of his shirt. It’s not long after that sleep claims you. He turned his head to look at you, his breath catching at the sight. The moonlight painted your face in soft silver, your features relaxed and peaceful. You looked beautiful, even in sleep—especially in sleep, when the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders. 

John’s breath was slow and measured as he lay beside you, the faint glow of moonlight outlining your figure against the bed. You were wrapped in his arms, your bare skin glowing like some ethereal thing, soft and inviting. His gaze roamed over you, unhurried, lingering on every curve and line as if he could imprint the sight of you onto his very soul.

He’d seen you like this countless times before, but tonight felt different— more fragile, as if this moment existed on the edge of something he couldn’t quite name.

His hand moved slowly, almost reverently, tracing the curve of your shoulder, the delicate slope of your collarbone. His calloused fingers felt clumsy against your softness, but he didn’t stop, letting his touch map the places his eyes had already memorized.

Every freckle, every scar, every mark on your body felt like a story he wanted to know by heart. The faint dip of your spine, the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the way your hair fanned out across the pillow—all of it was mesmerizing, sacred.

John’s hand drifted to your arm, following the curve down to your wrist, where he paused to marvel at the fragility of it, at how someone as strong as you could feel so breakable in his hands. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your palm, then to the delicate skin of your wrist where he could feel your pulse thrumming beneath his mouth.

His chest tightened as he shifted closer, his lips trailing along your arm, your shoulder, the hollow of your neck. He wanted to know every inch of you, wanted to memorize you in a way that went deeper than touch or sight. He wanted to carry the memory of you with him always, in a place where no time or distance or loss could ever take it away.

As his hands moved to your waist, his fingers splaying across your skin like he was anchoring himself to you, he closed his eyes and breathed you in. You smelled like home—faint traces of lavender soap and the earthy scent of the outdoors. He thought of how often he took for granted the simple presence of you, the way you fit against him like you belonged there.

You stirred under his touch, your breath hitching slightly as you turned your head toward him, your eyes fluttering open. The sight of you looking at him, sleepy and soft, sent a rush of something overwhelming through him—something that felt like love but was too big and too consuming to be named so simply.

“John,” you whispered, your voice heavy with sleep but laced with something deeper, something knowing.

He didn’t answer, couldn’t find the words. Instead, he leaned down and kissed you again, his lips slow and deliberate, tasting the softness of your mouth, the heat of your skin. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, though that burned beneath the surface—it was a kiss of devotion, of a man trying to capture the essence of the woman he loved in a way that words and memory alone could never hold.

When he pulled back, his hand moved to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as his eyes searched yours. “I just… I just want to remember you like this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion.

You smiled softly, your hand covering his as you leaned into his touch. “I’m not going anywhere, John.”

He nodded, though his chest still ached with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. Maybe you weren’t going anywhere, but life had a way of taking what mattered most. And if it ever did, he’d carry this night, this moment, with him always—every inch of you burned into his memory, like a brand on his soul.

His lips brushed your forehead, a kiss so light it was barely there, but it carried all the things he didn’t know how to say.

He loved you. He didn’t always know if he deserved you, but he loved you more than he’d ever thought himself capable of loving anyone.

John’s eyes grew heavy as he let the warmth of your body and the steady sound of your breathing pull him toward sleep. He didn’t have the answers, didn’t know if he ever would, but as he lay there with you in his arms, he knew one thing for certain.

He’d spend the rest of his life trying to be the man you needed him to be. Even if he’d never quite escape the shadow of the man who came before him.

[marcskywalker]

alright alright

Merlin has made a habit of laying protective charms and spells on Arthur's armor. The man is a big liability (king or not, Merlin will say it as it is). Running into danger head first, without thought or concern, is his top favorite activity.

It's what makes Arthur Arthur; his courage in the face of death.

So yes, it's become a necessity for Merlin to charm his armor for strength and endurance.

He decides to charm the King's new set of armors in his royal chamber in the middle of the day, while Arthur is away presumably listening to another one of mind numbingly boring reports from his knights.

What is a safer place for Merlin other than this room? Where else can he walk in as he pleases? Move about as he pleases? Leave a mess, jest around, lock the door and loiter as he pleases?

Within these walls, no one would dare to question him.

The King's trust is loud enough.

So, Merlin lays out all the metal on the floor and begins. He holds the cold, sharp chestpiece in his hand. Imagines Arthur under it; Arthur's beating heart and his warm, soft, breakable skin.

His magic flows out of him without command or permission, desperate to erase all the images of his mortal king bleeding and weak.

Oh, protectors of Earth and Magic! Cradle him as you would cradle your son.

His eyes are ember, words still on his lips, the shimmer of magic over the metal, when door swings open.

"Leon is one of my oldest and closest friends, but by Gods he makes me miserable," Arthur lets out a long breath, as if to blow out all the air in his body, looking right at Merlin as he does so.

The gold finally fades from his eyes but Merlin is frozen in place, his bones and breath refusing to move, watching Arthur's face scrunch in confusion, a myriad of feelings flashing through his face before settling on stern eyes and pursed lips.

"Mingling with the druids a lot now, are we?"

"Arthur, I-"

"I know, I know!" he sighs, commanding his face to neutrality, stepping over Merlin and metal towards his desk, "They are my people, too. You're allowed to trade and learn from each other."

Despite his resigned tone, Merlin knows how hard Arthur has worked to ensure a place for Druids in Camelot. Writing in stone, clear as day, that he is more than his father's son; he has claimed them as citizens of Camelot, opening the doors to courts and trade and provisions equally for all in the Kingdom.

Watching Arthur grow into the prophesied will be Merlin's greatest pride. Even if magic is still prohibited to practice under the law, magic users aren't hunted like animals for existing. And Merlin has all the faith in his King that when the time is right, he will bring magic back into the land. Until then, he's happy to live in half shadows.

"I'm allowed to learn magic?" he can't help the skepticism and shock bleed into his tone.

"Well, no! I'm not allowing you for anything, Merlin. But I'm not stupid enough to believe that that's about to stop you."

"So," he draws out the word, unsure of how to step out of the conversation. Unsure if he should even be stepping out of the conversation. "I can learn more magic?"

"You know how I feel about this. The price I have- we have had to pay for it. If you still find yourself curious, do what-" gestures to the laid out armor on the ground, "-ever this is. I only ask that you be careful."

"I'm enchanting it. To keep you safe."

"In exchange for what, Merlin?"

"Nothing-", Merlin loses his grip on the conversation faced with the frightened heartbreak on Arthur's face; the courageous bones bending in unfamiliar ways. "I swear. Nothing. It's not any big magic. The druids do it all the time, we won't have to pay a price for this, Arthur."

"We'll see."

[lecl3rcw]

KEEPING UP WITH THE LECLERCS | leclerc brothers x reader

_______________________

part 1

“Y/N, it’s the middle of the fucking night in Monaco? You better have a good ass reason too wake me up” Arthur groaned at his twin as he groggily.

“You won’t believe it.” She says

“What?”

“THE BENGALS INVITED ME TO THEIR GAME” she says, a sudden burst of excitement ran through her

“Who are the bengals again?” He sighs

“….”

“Oh wait, it’s that one dude you like, what was his name again Joe Burrow?”

“YEAH AND GET THIS, I can bring up to 5 people, so you’re coming and so are Charles, Alex, Lorenzo and Maman” she says excitedly.

“Who says I’m going?” He says, earning himself a scowl.

“You don’t want to come?” She says, “well I mean not really”

“Ofcourse you don’t! I always show up for your events and you never show up for mine” she says, maliciousness lacing her tone.

“Y/N please, this isn’t your event, you’re not walking the runway or attending a premiere” he says, his tone now matching hers.

“Well even if I was, not like you’d show up anyways” she mutters.

“What are you yapping about? You’re being so dramatic, I mean not everything revolves around you okay? Some of us have actual problems” he says giving the final blow.

The girl takes a deep breath to collect her self. All her life she had spent living in the shadows of her siblings. She just wanted someone to show up for her, she remembers her first runway show, she had 4 seats reserved for her family yet when she walked out, all 4 of those chairs were empty, why? Because Charles had a last minute deals with a brand. They called and apologized and Ofcourse she put a brave face on, but only the walls of her room heard the way she cried herself to sleep that night.

“You know what? I’m going to let that slide, I don’t know what’s going on with you but I hope you make peace with yourself, and you don’t have to come, I’ll just ask Charles and Enzo. But anyways goodnight” she says

“Y/N-” Arthur tries to interrupt but she hangs up before he can say anything.

Had she overreacted? She felt a sudden rush of guilt overcome her. She couldn’t help but overthink. Her train of thoughts were interrupted by a FaceTime call from her brother's girlfriend.

"Hey babygirl" Alexandra says, "Hey bae, what's up?" she says propping her phone up on the table.

“Just checking in with you and your man situation” Alex says, her and Charles were in the Maldives, “oh it’s good, I got invited to the bengals game so” she replies, “WAIT THATS SO GOOD” Alex says excitedly, Y/N smiles.

“Do you and Charles want to come with me?” She asks hopeful, “well Charles will be preparing for his race but I can definitely come!! When is it?” She asks, “next week!”

“Oh yeah I can definitely make it!” She says,

“Ok we can fly together!! But I I’ll see you next week love ya!” She says hanging up.

The week came even before she could blink.

“So Y/N you excited?” Alexandra says, and Y/N nods.

When they arrive at the stadium, Y/N is immediately greeted by the bengals team.

“Thankyou so much for being our guest, I’m the head coach Zac Taylor” a man says reaching his hand to which she smiles and accepts.

“This is my friend Alexandra!” She says as Alex also shakes his hand, from the corner of her eye, Y/N could feel a certain pair of blue eyes stare at her, and her cheek flushed more.

She waves to the rest of the team, however the man with blue eyes seems to approach her first. “Hey, my name is Joe, I’m the quarterback” he says extending his hand, “I’m going to be honest, I have no idea what that it” Y/N chuckles shaking his hand which caused him to smile.

“Well if you umm give me your number maybe some time could teach you about football” he says very smoothly, which causes her to get flustered.

“Oh yeah, d-definitely! Here” she says giving him her number as he smiles, “you have such a beautiful smile” Joe says bringing up her hand to his lips before letting it go, “I’ll talk to you later” he says waving before going to get ready for his game. She just stands there in shock wondering what happened.

Alexandra squeals, “I saw that!! Y/N he so likes you” she says hugging the girl.

Y/N laughs and shakes her head, but the whole time she couldn’t take her eyes of him.

joeyb_9 started following you

y/n.leclerc

y/n.leclerc modeling for Dior has always been a dream of mine, so thankful to take this huge step into my career with the most amazing photographers, stylists, and makeup artists🫶🏻

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, joeyb_9, charles_leclerc, and 13,000,000 others

alexandrasaintmleux mami😍

^ y/n.leclerc kiss me rn😍

charles_leclerc alex has been staring at the phone for the past 15 minutes….

^ y/n.leclerc sounds like a you problem bud😪

fan1 NOT JOE BURROW LIKING?!!?!

^ fan2 IK HE NEVER LIKES

joeburrowswife idk I don’t see the hype

^ y/n2fine yet she’s pulling your “man”

rachelzegler welcome to the squad Y/N❤️

^ y/n.leclerc Thankyou rach💕🥹

bellahadid weird way to propose but yes😍

^ y/n.leclerc SHE SAID YES YALL💍👩🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏻

[foreseers-flower]

there's a lot of discussion and speculation about the fact john doesn't speak of arthur in rdr1. logistically it's not hard to understand that rdr1 just came out years before rdr2 and thats why but . But.

but when you think of rdr1 with the additional context two, there is something quite... in line with john trying to forget arthur. wanting to. or burying him. not just in metaphor or in soil but in his memories and in some way failing to do it but in another succeeding

you think of john and his commitment to his son and wife and you think of his willingness to do anything for them. moral or not. righteous or not. and you think of the fact that john didn't know at the time the sort of man arthur believed him to be, but he perhaps modeled himself in the image of his older brother. near incidental. he has so little in common with arthur really. john's broody and lacking remorse and at twenty-six he's inconsiderate entirely in a way arthur never was.

but time is a thief and one day, he turns 38. he's older than arthur when he dies. and john doesn't remember well what he looks like, and all he can feel when he thinks of arthur is grief. grief that never ends. thats the thing about all of it, you'll realize - is that john knows arthur best in the retroactive.

the sort of complicated, odd man arthur was revealed to him in the creases of pages and keepsakes. in the carving of his guns that john finds after arthur is gone. in the ring of the woman arthur loved long ago. in the confessionals to his son isaac and the regret in the letters he wrote to their psuedo father. you realize john knows more of arthurs stagnant ghost that can't guide john into manhood the way he so desperately needs. and it's all he has to go by to make a man of himself.

john never finds out what kind of man arthur believed him to be and he has to infer the real good man arthur was. in grief there is love. john loved arthur enough to want to be like him. and in burying the living, breathing man arthur was he's forced to cling to his spirit. has to piece together the kindness of his older brother through memories and diary entries and secondhand stories. and that's how he models himself in rdr1 to me. where arthur is moral john becomes dutiful and where arthur is kind, john is helpful. he becomes the shadow of arthurs best qualities. he can never be arthur. no one could ever be arthur, even if arthur had given them the page by page instructions of how to do so. this is all he has. all he knows. all he can do.

john misses his brother. so he tries to embody him. but he can't really in the same way he can't grieve him. so he makes a home for arthurs ghost to return to in himself. john never mentions arthur because it dregs up painful what-ifs, but they share so many mannerisms and bastardized qualities. john has fashioned himself based on those loose memories.

one day, a stranger meets john and says. "why would you remember me, friend? you've forgotten far more important people than me" and john will remember all the ghosts he's ever loved briefly. there will be a blurry face and a forgiving voice and it will sound like a memory and it will linger in johns ribcage like a moth. and john won't remember. he won't. he can't. he buried his brother without ever doing it.

john says a lot of things. feels a lot of things. he shoots his gun to the stranger who calls his memory into question and the thing jams and the bastard roams free. john will taste blood in his mouth. he'll feel a cough in his lungs and well, he won't remember his brother still. buried men must stay buried.

of course. of course john never mentions arthur. he can't remember him, even though he's inherited so much of his manner. to speak it of him would be admitting to his existence. its admitting: i miss you. im sorry. it was my fault.

of course john never mentions arthur. he's made all this effort in forgetting him that even when his body and his gesture and his character betray the fact he's forgotten - his mind will soothe the pain and blur out his face.

and instead of remembering in life even once, he'll die the same way arthur did. alone. protective. contented. redeemed. john loves arthur like most brothers do - with muscle memory.

even if john cuts the necrosis of arthurs memory off of him, his body will twitch at the phantom feeling of his existence. john remembers even when he can't. arthur his only brother. the most important man he's ever forgotten.

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

hello!!! hope you’re doing great, I kinda wanna ask about Thomas x Sister Shelby if you do that ? And if you do I’m thinking she’d be smart, has a very quick tongue and she wants to get out of the Shelby business to marry the love of her life (alfie😝😍) so she fakes her death and ofc everyone is distraught and angry than after a few years Thomas sees alfie at his home and than comes his sister who he thought had died and he berates her than she says something like you’re a worse person than me always killing for money like he can’t live without a war. Also I am in the mood for a very angst ending

A/N: Hello my love! How are you doing? I am so so sorry that this has taken forever. Truthfully, I had no clue how to do this. I thought about this long an hard, and though some things I switched up, I hope you enjoy this. I feel like this got me to stretch my writing muscles, and it was really fun. Let me know what you think darling!

Run Away With Me Darling

Alfie Solomons x Fem! Reader; 3.8k words; fluff, angst

Warnings: language, contentious family relationships, arranged marriage???

It started innocently enough.

You bringing tea and biscuits to meeting rooms where the men started their schemes. Listening and taking notes alongside your ever watchful Aunt Polly. Sneaking glances at the big brute in the chair across from your big brothers.

“Thank you treacle. Yeah that’s real kind of you.”

That brute is the only man that would say thank you for the tea you bring by. And when you go to pour more for him, he’s the only man who says, “No need for that darling. Grown men can pour their own tea yeah?”

It wasn’t meant to be anything more than professional. But you should’ve known. Known from that first encounter outside those Shelby walls… you and Mr. Solomons shared a single soul… and heaven nor hell could keep you from each other’s grasp.

It was hot. London is not a tropical city by any means. But the sheer amount of bodies, activity, and warm rain, had transformed the city into a sauna. The wisps of your hair along your neck and forehead are plastered to your body. Rivulets of sweat sneak down your chest. The heat could only be described as oppressive. You were counting down the steps till you could go home.

On the one hand… it was strange having a home all to yourself. Truthfully, it was the Shelby homestead in London, where the family would stay when business needed attending to. However, when they all left, you stayed. Carrying delicate messages. Keeping a close pulse on the going’s on of the city. And perhaps most importantly… remaining a pretty show pony for the Shelby family.

You hated to admit it. But you were desperately jealous of Ada. She had the guts to sneak past Arthur, Tommy, and John. She had the foresight to marry her true love before Tommy could marry her off to the highest bidder. You had no such luck. No childhood love. No sweetheart to campaign for. The boys had made sure of it. Despite Ada and your protests, and Polly’s discrete ploys; Tommy had decided. The sweet, pure, and innocent youngest Shelby girl will be auctioned off to the richest and most lucrative partner for the Shelby Company. And she will remain pretty and docile. A prize.

The mere thought made your stomach twist and churn and burn.

You loved them. Your family. More than most love their family. But you could barely breathe under their watch. Even in another city you felt the reach of their eyes. Felt the whisperings of potential matches for your hand and womb. The sweat on your brow burned your eyes. Taking place of the unshed tears you long abandoned.

All you longed for was cold water. A cool bath. Anything to scrub off the sweat and dirt and exhaustion. However, shade covered your front door, casting a shadow over the threshold.

“Sweetheart! Been waiting a bit for you!”

No matter where you see Mr. Solomons, he seems to take up all the space. You don’t know how he is able to stand the heat, with his coat and hat and bushy beard. But he looks unfettered. Cool even. You finally felt the kiss of the breeze on your neck as you approached.

“Mr. Solomons. How can I help you?”

“You going to invite me in like a good girl?”

“I’m not in the business of inviting strange men into my home.”

“You think me strange?”

“Oh Mr. Solomons you are the strangest man I’ve ever met.”

“Makes you a little excited though don’t it? A hint of danger yeah? Big brute standing at your door.”

You stuck your chin out, staring directly into his stormy eyes. “I’m not afraid of you Mr. Solomons.”

His mouth quirks up in the corner. A twinkle in his eyes, and your breath hitched as he leaned into your space, “Oh I know sweet. You ain’t like the others ain’t ya? I saw it… the first time I laid eyes on you I knew you were different. Those boys… cold blooded little snakes… you… nah… there’s a flame in you treacle…and I look forward to see you set things aflame.”

Before you could respond in any way, he leaned away, smiling at your response. He pulled out an envelope from his coat and handed it to you, “Contract and information for your devious brother my sweet. Don’t worry, put a little something in there for you too for your trouble.”

You snatched the envelope from his hand. Unsure of how to respond to his… behavior. His rumbling laugh set a shiver down your spine, but you pushed it down as you appraised him, “This seems below your job description… don’t you have messenger boys?”

He further smirked, “I hope you’ll forgive me, that I want to keep you to myself.”

“I’m not a kept girl.”

“That you are not. Just have to inform your brothers of the fact don’t you?”

Hot shame rose in your cheeks. The envelope in your hands crinkling sharply. You felt the cool brush of gold rings on your cheek, “I have a standing dinner every Thursday evening. Let it be our little secret, hmm?”

Before you could react, a coarse kiss is pressed to your knuckles. As he started walking away, you called out, “And if I don’t show up? What then?”

He turned, with a boyish smile, “You’re not a kept woman treacle. Not my business. I’ll just send my messenger boys in my place.”

That was a year ago. Things were so simple then. Secret dinners. Secret mornings. Secret dalliances and outings around town. And when the family came to town, you placed that mask back on. Sweet, innocent, and docile Shelby girl. Ready at the beck and call of her family. And when they left, you ran right into the arms of Alfie. Because where it all started as something to feel disobedient, it grew into something deeper and more ancient. You felt your soul intertwine with his, as if it was always searching for him. In the evenings when he whispered his love for you and kept you close, you had never felt safer. Never felt more alive.

But dreams are not forever. Sooner or later the bubble must pop.

“You’ll need to come back to Birmingham dearest.”

“For how long?”

Everyone looked up at Tommy. Tommy didn’t even look up from his dinner plate, “Permanently. I’ve got a husband for you.”

Your fork dropped. Your heart stopped beating.

You faintly hear Aunt Polly call your name.

“Husband?” You whispered.

Tommy sighed, “That is what I said. High time you married, you’re old enough. Mr. Gorman has multiple factories both here and in the states, and his son is set to inherit them all. It’s a good match, it’ll be very beneficial to the company.”

“Tommy I don’t even know him.”

“You have your entire life to get to know him. Now finish your dinner.”

“So you just decided is that it? You just decided to that I’d belong to some man? Tell me Tommy… how much did you sell me off for? How much is my womb worth?”

“Watch your mouth!” Polly hissed, with Arthur wincing at the cutting words.

“I’m not going.” You stood from your chair. Preparing for battle.

“It’s not up for discussion.”

“I’m not going! You cannot make me!”

Tommy rose from his seat, John putting his head in his hands with Arthur knocking back a drink. Low. Deadly. Tommy always could command a room with his voice. Cold finger pointing at you like a deadly weapon. “You will do as you’re told. This is not about you. This is about the family. In a week, I will come fetch you. I will drag you back to Birmingham if I have to. And you will marry the young Mr. Gorman, and you will have as many of his fucking babies as he chooses. You will be rich. You will be safe. And you will be set. I am not about to argue with a child.”

You felt the tears well up in your eyes. Sorrow. Mourning. Hatred. “I hate you Thomas Shelby. I hate you.”

“You will get over it.”

You ran to your room. Weeping the rest of the night.

Because how can your body and name be given to a man, when your heart and soul belonged to another?

They left the next morning. Arthur knocking on your door to announce the departure, and trying to convince you, “He’s a good lad darling. Trust Tommy alright? Wouldn’t let nothing bad happen to ya, even though it seems like right shit. Don’t be too angry at us. We’ll all still be close. And anyway… it’s what’s good for the family.”

You didn’t look at him. Not even a hum of acknowledgment when he kissed your hair tenderly. A regretful sigh leaves his body as Arthur walked away, taking one last look at your quivering body on your maiden bed. Arthur always had a soft spot for you. Always defensive for you unlike your other siblings. He had tried in vain to get Tommy to rethink the arrangement. You didn't need to get married. The company didn't need such an alliance. They'd get by as they always have. But Tommy's sights were set much higher. He wanted that name of honor. And to get it, he was willing to play by the rules of old money. Tommy had convinced Arthur enough. Enough that you'd eventually forgive them all.

The orange sky illuminated your bedroom in a bloody hue. Your throat dry and head hot and pounding. The creaking and settling of the house had become a steady ring in your ears, you didn't even hear the bedroom door open.

"Treacle. What are you doing? Eden said you haven't left since last night. You ill?"

Maids hear everything, you think bitterly. But you couldn't be too cross with Eden. Not really.

"He's done it Alfie."

Alfie toed off his boots after the hat and coat. Sinking into the too ornate duvet. "Who treacle? What happened?"

You faced him, deep creases of the duvet threads divide your hot wet cheeks. Lashes clumped together and soaked. "Tommy... he... he finally did it. He's married me off. In a weeks time I'm to belong to some... Mr. Gorman. His father owns factories, and I suppose that's enough for my bride price."

You feel your body being gently tugged up and into Alfie’s embrace. Despite any protest from you about how it may affect his back, he shushes you instantly, “Now now my little dove. Nah you ain’t going back to Birmingham. You ain’t getting married to some prick. Nah you’re staying here with ol’ Alfie.”

You force your face under his chin, letting his unkempt beard absorb your sobs, “No Alfie it’s true! Tommy told me yesterday at dinner! He… he’s taking me away Alfie! I hate him. I hate him so much. I don’t want to marry some man I don’t even know!”

“I already told you darling, you’re not going to! It’s not happening.”

You push his shoulder, “You’re not listening to me! Tommy said-“

“I don’t give a shit what Tommy said! You’re not marrying the shit because you’re marrying me!”

Like an unpracticed magician, he pulled out a gorgeous diamond and sapphire ring. Its glimmer and fractals made it look as endless as the night sky. You felt the breath in your lungs catch, anger and fear simmering down and cooling. You dared not touch something to precious, “Alfie Solomons…”

“Was my mother’s. Gave it to me when I came back from the war. On her death bed. Made me swear that I wouldn’t give it up for any pretty girl on the street. Had to give it to the one.”

You struggled to meet his gaze, “And I-“

“The one treacle. If you’ll have me.”

He shifted you in his lap, fully facing him, “Now… I had a whole event planned out. Garden stroll. Drinks. Music playing. And I know I’m a sorry old monster and you have loads of suitor-“

“Alfie-“

“But I swear on my life treacle, you’ll never want for anything. You will have freedom to do whatever you would hope to do. We’ll go anywhere. I’ll love you till the stars go out-“

“Alfie! Yes! Yes yes yes! I’ll marry you! You silly old man!”

You pushed him back and kissed him fiercely. With all the passion you had been hiding from your family for years. Until the acidic burn of reality came down, “But what about Tommy? Alfie you hate each other, he’ll never let me go.”

Rough hands running up and down your thighs, gazing in awe at the fiery halo surrounding you. “I was willing to go in and threaten blessing or death.”

“I won’t have you put in danger for love. This isn’t Shakespeare.”

With a laugh and kiss to your fingertips he whispers, “You got any ideas? I’m all ears.”

You try to think, but kept coming across a wall. Any option you thought of ended in bloodshed. You fell into the bed next to Alfie, curling into his chest, “I wish we could just run away.”

His arms tighten around you, “What if we did?”

It would happen three days before Tommy would come to fetch you. You dismissed Eden with an oath to secrecy, and for four days you played the part of excited bride to be. Purchasing things for a new marital home, a wedding dress and new wardrobe. Who cares if the detail of the lucky husband was slightly off?

Whenever your family called, you lied happily through your smiling teeth. At first you felt a twinge of guilt. But in the end, they stood by as your brothers sold you off. They lost the right to the truth. They hated Alfie, said as much any time they came to the house. They would never understand. They would never allow it. But this was your life. And you would be damned before you were cleaved from your beloved.

The men from the distillery made regular visits to the house in the middle of the night, picking up your things to take to Margate, dropping off love letters and updates from Alfie. With each passing day, your heart became lighter. The binds lessening. Freedom was right on your tongue.

Three days before Tommy, Arthur, and John are to pick you up, the horrific news explodes through Birmingham. The Shelby home in London: set ablaze. No survivors. The beautiful bride, burned alongside her wedding dress hanging in the window. The youngest Shelby girl, an angel amongst demons, taken too soon from the earth from a horrific accident. The fire so destructive, not even a body is there for a proper burial. Just ash and a memory of that sweet face. The funeral is horrible. Wailing and weeping from all of Birmingham. Aunt Polly could barely keep it together, blaming Tommy for it all. Even business acquaintances from London and beyond come to pay their respects. The most shocking visitor, was Mr. Solomons, who paid for the funeral itself, “I’m sorry Tommy for your loss. I really am. She was a sweet girl. But… she’s in a better place I’m sure.”

And what a better place that is. White washed home right on the beach, windows open at all times, with the sea breeze billowing pristine gossamer curtains in the wind. You spend your days reading and writing to your heart’s content, strolling the beach, playing with Cyril like a child. As Alfie settles affairs in Camden during the week, he visits during the weekend, serving and worshipping you like a goddess. He never gave you information about the family. You didn’t want it. That was your old life. A you that you couldn’t recognize. Here, in this life, you were free. Free to speak. Free to argue and give your mind.

After a month, Alfie permanently moves to Margate. Home. Retired from the gangster life with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of his life, with more than enough to comfort when he’s gone.

And the years pass blissfully. Just how it was in the beginning. Kisses and dancing and laughter and arguing and love and joy. 3 years of absolute heaven, you had nearly forgotten how it all was almost taken from you.

But the past does have a way of rearing its ugly head doesn’t it?

It’s the dawn of summer. The final kisses of spring bringing crisp clean air through your marital home. Alfie had never felt better. The pain in his body had long left him, only flaring during the coldest evenings. The dark circles under his eyes have dissolved. His face and body, fuller, firmer with the glowing health of a man at peace who works for life not death. You were upstairs, searching for the a particular spool of thread you had been working with for a blanket you had spent days on. But it needed to be done soon. Alfie shifted through the records you both had been collecting. Symphonies had become his special interest in the recent months, and he was looking for a particular composition that he felt would make your heart sing.

The heavy knock on the door sent the hair on his neck stand at attention.

Only one demon knocked like that.

His eyes shifted to the stairs. He could still hear you moving things around. Searching tirelessly for that spool. You’d be missing for a couple minutes. Enough to rebuke the vile creature from the door without your discovery.

With a deep breath, Alfie tries to remember the armor of his past. The Mad Baker. Just as another round of knocks was about to come, Alfie opened roughly, “Tommy! What are you doing here? Gates of hell need their master don’t they?”

He looked thinner than normal. It’s been years since the men had seen each other, but the difference was still shocking. Those icey blue eyes even more haunting than they were at the funeral. Gaunt cheeks and pale skin made him look like a living corpse. A flicker of a flame winked behind those eyes. Hope for another fight. Something to set him aflame. “Hello Alfie. Enjoying retirement?”

“Yeah actually I am so whatever you have up your sleeve I want no part in it so if you’ll just fuck off.”

Before Alfie could slam the door, Tommy stuck his foot in the door, “Not that simple Alfie. Worlds gone to shit and it needs Solomons to set it to right.”

“Your world not mine. Now get out.”

“I’m not going to leave until you let me in Alfie.”

Your angelic voice danced on the breeze down to the front door, “I found it! Alfie you would not believe where it was! I swear I’m losing my mind.”

Tommy’s face some how went paler. As if he heard Satan’s whisper of condemnation. Alfie tried to push the door closed, but with the strength of a mad man Tommy pushed past the threshold.

Tommy almost fainted.

This must be hell.

He must have died.

It’s the only rational idea.

God chose to lock him in the home of his biggest agitation, with the ghost of his dead baby sister.

But this couldn’t be your ghost. Your swollen belly proves this.

“Holy shit.” You drop the tea cup in your hands when you see Tommy. Tommy who wasn’t supposed to be here. Tommy who saw you buried and dead.

Alfie rushes in, pulling you behind his broad frame. Through his linen shirt, you feel the ragged breath and hammering heart of your husband. You feel faint. “Tommy… you need to leave right now.”

“You paid for the funeral.”

“Tommy we can do this later but you need to get out right now. I’m asking nicely.”

“You knew she was alive… you knew.”

“She is very delicate right now she does not need any excitement.”

“You fucking made her delicate! You compromised her you fucking bastard!”

You cried out as Tommy lunged for your husband, “Stop it Tommy! Enough! Get out of my house!”

Tommy stumbled, pointing at you, “You… you’re fucking sick. You’re demented! You caused Polly a near heart attack. You are disgusting!”

You push past Alfie, who is left watching, “I’m disgusting! You sold me off to some man. And for what? To get people to see you as a big man? Guess what Tommy, you will NEVER be good enough for them! They’ll always see people like us as trash! But you don’t care. Anything to get ahead right?! You’ll stoop as low as you need to ahead.”

Tommy laughed bitterly, holding back the urge to spit, “And what about you yeah? So spoiled that you throw the biggest tantrum of the century. Whore yourself out to the Mad Baker, and get knocked up with his bastard.”

“I’d stop talking if I were you Tommy.”, Alfie snarled darkly. Fists curling in. Like a wolf ready to devour.

“I’d rather be his whore than be a part of any family of yours. You can’t leave well enough alone. Murdering and slaughtering for some honor so quick to tarnish and fade away. You tried to lock me away, never taking a care to what I wanted or thought. But you can’t do that to me anymore. I’m a Solomons, and I carry his child. You can’t touch me.”

Tommy settled, steel washed over his face. “They have a right to know.”

“You all have a right to nothing. I’ll see the family when I’m good and ready.”

His eyes shift to Alfie, “You are evil incarnate. You are cursed.”

No sign of mirth reaches Alfie’s eyes when he smirks, “Careful Tommy. You know what they say about curses. Especially when you curse family.”

Without another word, Tommy storms out. As soon as the door slams, shaking the lamps, you let out the breath in your heavy lungs, “Holy Shit”.

Your knees give out from under you, and cold shakes roll through your body. Alfie grabbed your body, helping you into a chair. “Settle my love it’s alright he’s gone. What do you need? Baby ok?”

“No I’m ok thank you my love. I just… I need air. I can’t believe he came here. He knows. They all know.”

“Hush darling, breathe for me, settle your nerves, you don’t need to worry. They know but they can’t touch you. You’re my wife and they can’t get to you. You are your own woman. You are safe.”

“But what are we going to do. What if they come?”

“Then we’ll deal with them. I’ll have some boys come in, set up a watch. We won’t be caught off guard ever again.”

You nodded. Trusting the words of your husband. You felt an affirming kick in your ribs. The rushing of your heart. You had paradise for three years. You couldn’t run forever, no matter how far you got. The bell had finally tolled, and it was time to face it.

[viagracex]

hey bae I actually adore your writing!! Could you do something fluffy with Arthur tv and fem!reader where she’s rambling to him about like Greek mythology or smth random whilst sat in his lap and he’s just playing with her hair and listening? And she stops bcs she’s usually quiet and she feels bad for rambling but he reassures her bcs he’s genuinely so interested in everything she’s saying? Or something like that obviously adjust it to your preferences! Thank uu :)

Whispers of Olympus

arthur frederick x fem!reader

summary: during a rambling about greek mythology you and arthur reach a profound, mutual realization.

warnings: greek mythology, mythological violence, emotional intensity

note: i absolutely loved writing this!!! i got a bit carried away but writing this caused my inner percy jackson kid to come out as someone who’s obsessed with greek mythology. once i started writing i couldn’t stop I spent 6 hours straight just putting all my ideas on paper! this filled me with so much joy you have no idea. i did put my own little spin on the ending. hope this is what you were looking for!

4.6k words

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In the soothing cocoon of your shared living room, with the soft hum of the city outside and the dim light from the television casting flickering shadows around, you found yourself in a familiar, cherished position: nestled comfortably in Arthur's lap, your back against his chest as you recounted tales of Greek mythology with animated enthusiasm. Your hands moved expressively, painting pictures of epic battles and divine machinations as you delved into the ancient stories that captivated you so deeply.

Arthur's fingers gently combed through your soft hair as you nestled comfortably in his lap, your eyes alight with enthusiasm. The warm afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden glow over them both as you regaled him with tales of gods and heroes.

"...and then Theseus sailed to Crete to face the Minotaur," you continued, gesticulating animatedly. "Can you imagine how terrifying that must have been? A massive labyrinth filled with deadly traps, and at the center, a monstrous bull-man waiting to devour you!"

Arthur smiled softly, completely enraptured by your passion. He loved the way your eyes sparkled when you spoke of mythology, how your voice took on a lilting, storyteller's cadence. Though typically reserved, in moments like these you fully blossomed, painting vivid pictures with your words.

"But Ariadne gave him a ball of thread to find his way back out," you went on. "It's called Ariadne's thread, and it's become a metaphor for solving problems with logic. Isn't that fascinating? How these ancient stories still resonate today and shape our language and thinking?"

Arthur nodded, his fingers still gently combing through your hair. "It is fascinating," he agreed softly. "Tell me more about Ariadne. What happened to her after she helped Theseus?"

You shifted slightly in his lap, her eyes lighting up even more at his question. "Oh, that's where it gets really interesting! You see, after Theseus defeated the Minotaur, he took Ariadne with him when he left Crete. But then..." Paused dramatically, your hand resting on Arthur's chest. "He abandoned her on the island of Naxos while she slept!"

Arthur's brow furrowed. "That seems rather ungrateful of him," he murmured, his hand moving to trace gentle patterns on your back.

"It was!" you exclaimed. "But here's where it gets better. The god Dionysus found her there, fell in love with her, and made her his immortal wife. He even placed her crown in the sky as the constellation Corona Borealis."

As you spoke, Arthur found himself imagining the scene, picturing the lonely goddess on that distant shore, her heartbreak transforming into divine love. He gazed down at the woman in his arms, marveling at how she brought these ancient tales to life with such vivid detail.

"It's a bittersweet story," he mused, "but I suppose it worked out for Ariadne in the end."

You nodded eagerly. "Exactly! And there are so many interpretations of what it all means. Some say it represents the transition from maiden to wife, or the union of mortal and divine. Others see it as a cautionary tale about trusting strangers."

As you continued to expound on the various scholarly debates surrounding the myth, Arthur found himself captivated not just by the story, but by the infectious enthusiasm. Your cheeks were flushed with excitement, hands gesticulating wildly as you spoke. He loved how you could lose herself so completely in these tales, how the usual shyness melted away when you got caught in a passionate rambling.

"Oh! And did you know that the Minotaur itself is a fascinating symbol?" you asked, barely pausing for breath. "Some interpret it as representing the bestial nature within humanity, or the struggle between civilization and our primal instincts."

Arthur listened intently, his fingers still absently stroking you hair. He loved how your mind worked, connecting disparate ideas and finding meaning in the smallest details. As you spoke, he found himself drawn into her world of myth and symbolism.

"That's fascinating," he murmured. "It reminds me a bit of the story of Cronus. Do you know that one?"

Your eyes lit up even brighter. "Oh yes! Cronus, the Titan who devoured his own children. That's another myth with so many layers of meaning."

You shifted in his lap, turning to face him more fully, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. "Cronus ate his children because he feared they would overthrow him, just as he had overthrown his own father, Uranus. It's a story about the cyclical nature of time and power, and the fear of being replaced. But Rhea, his wife, she was cunning. She managed to trick him by wrapping a stone in swaddling clothes instead of baby Zeus," you explained, your voice lively with the thrill of storytelling.

Arthur nodded, his hand moving to cup your cheek gently. "And in the end, his fear became a self-fulfilling prophecy, didn't it? Because Zeus, the child he failed to eat, was the one who ultimately dethroned him."

"Exactly!" you exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement. "It's a perfect example of how these myths often contain deep psychological truths. Cronus's attempt to cling to power ultimately led to his downfall."

Pausing for a moment, your brow furrowing in thought. "You know, there's an interesting parallel between the Cronus myth and the story of Oedipus. Both involve prophecies of sons overthrowing their fathers, and both show how attempts to avoid fate often lead directly to it."

"Oh! And speaking of Zeus, there was this time when he transformed into a swan to seduce Leda... it’s such a bizarre yet fascinating tale, showing just how far the gods would go for love—or lust," you chuckled, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

Arthur's chuckle rumbled in his chest, a warm sound that vibrated against your back. "The gods really didn’t have any limits, did they?" he mused, his intrigue palpable in his tone.

You nodded, pleased with his interest, and continued, "Not at all. Their stories are filled with such raw emotions and dramatic plots. Like the story of Persephone and Hades, this tale is one of my absolute favourites!" you exclaimed, your eyes lighting up with renewed excitement. "It's a story of love, loss, and the changing of seasons."

Arthur's hand continued its gentle ministrations in your hair, his fingers weaving through the strands as he listened intently. "Tell me about it," he encouraged softly, his eyes never leaving your animated face.

You shifted slightly in his lap once again, getting comfortable as you prepared to dive into the story. "Well, Persephone was the daughter of Demeter, the goddess of harvest and fertility. She was a beautiful young goddess, and Hades, the god of the underworld, fell deeply in love with her."

As you spoke, Arthur's free hand began tracing more lazy patterns on your back, his touch soothing and warm. You leaned into him, drawing comfort from his presence as you continued your tale.

"Hades was so smitten that he decided to abduct Persephone and take her to the underworld. He burst through the earth in his chariot, snatched her up, and disappeared back into the depths before anyone could stop him."

Arthur's brow furrowed slightly at the mention of abduction. "That seems rather drastic," he murmured, his hand stilling momentarily in your hair.

You nodded emphatically. "Oh, it was! Demeter was absolutely distraught when she discovered her daughter was missing. She searched the earth for nine days and nights, neglecting her duties as the goddess of harvest. As a result, the earth began to wither and die."

Your hands moved expressively as you spoke, painting pictures in the air. "Can you imagine the desperation she must have felt? A mother searching endlessly for her child, while the world around her fell into ruin?"

Arthur's expression softened, his fingers resuming its movements now running gentle caress through your hair. "It must have been heartbreaking for her," he said softly.

"It was," you agreed, your voice taking on a more somber tone. "Eventually, Zeus had to intervene. He commanded Hades to return Persephone to the world above."

You paused dramatically, your eyes meeting Arthur's. "But there was a catch. You see, Persephone had eaten six pomegranate seeds while in the underworld.

"And eating food from the underworld meant she was bound to return there," Arthur guessed, his voice soft with understanding.

You nodded enthusiastically, your eyes bright. "Exactly! For each seed she ate, she had to spend one month of the year in the underworld. So, for six months, she stays with Hades, and for six months, she returns to the world above with her mother."

As you spoke, you realized how long you had been talking, how many stories you had shared. A flush crept up your cheeks, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. "Oh," you said, your voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm sorry, I've been rambling on for so long. I didn't mean to bore you with all these old stories."

You started to pull away, but Arthur's arms tightened around you, holding you close. "Don't apologize," he said, his voice warm and sincere. "I love hearing you talk about these myths. The way you tell them, they come alive. It's like I can see the gods and heroes right in front of me."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Really? You're not just saying that?"

Arthur shook his head, a tender smile playing on his lips. "I'm not just saying that," he assured you, his voice gentle but firm. "Your passion for these stories is... captivating. The way your eyes light up, how animated you become - it's beautiful to watch."

His words sent a warm flutter through your chest, and you felt your blush deepen. Arthur's hand moved from your hair to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.

"Tell me," he said, his blue eyes gazing intently into yours, "what drew you to Greek mythology in the first place? What is it about these ancient tales that speaks to you so deeply?"

You hesitated for a moment, surprised by the question. It wasn't often that someone asked about the root of your passion, and you found yourself searching for the right words.

"I think... it's the humanity of it all," you began slowly, your voice growing stronger as you continued. "These gods and heroes, they're so powerful, so larger than life. And yet, they struggle with the same emotions we do - love, jealousy, pride, fear. Their stories are our stories, just painted on a grander canvas."

Your words hung in the air for a moment, and you watched as Arthur's eyes softened with understanding. He nodded slowly, his hand still gently cupping your cheek.

"That's beautiful," he murmured. "I never thought of it that way before, but you're right. These stories have endured for thousands of years because they speak to something universal in the human experience."

You smiled, your heart swelling with warmth at his understanding. "Yeah," you said softly. "And there's something magical about how these stories have been passed down through generations, evolving and taking on new meanings as they go. It's like we're part of this grand, unending conversation across time."

As you spoke, you noticed the golden afternoon light had shifted, casting long shadows across the room. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink visible through the window. It reminded you of the story of Apollo driving his sun chariot across the sky.

"You know," you began, a playful glint in your eye, "the ancient Greeks believed the sunset was caused by Apollo reaching the western edge of the world with his chariot. As he descended into the underworld to make his nightly journey back to the east, the sky would blaze with colour."

Arthur's gaze shifted to the window, taking in the spectacular sunset. "It's a beautiful explanation for such a stunning sight," he mused, his arms tightening slightly around you.

You nodded, snuggling closer into his embrace. "They had stories for everything - the changing seasons, the constellations in the night sky, the ebb and flow of the tides. It's like they wove magic into the very fabric of the world around them."

As you spoke, Arthur's eyes drifted back to your face, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You weave magic too, you know," he said softly. "The way you bring these stories to life, it's like you're casting a spell."

Your cheeks flushed at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. "I just love sharing them," you murmured, suddenly feeling shy under the intensity of his gaze.

"And I love listening," Arthur replied, his voice low and tender. His hand moved from your cheek to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "You know, there's a story I'd like to tell you now, if you'll let me."

Curiosity piqued, you nodded eagerly. "Of course," you said, settling more comfortably in his lap.

Arthur took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "Once upon a time," he began, his voice taking on a storyteller's cadence that mirrored your own, "there was a man who thought he understood the world, he thought he knew everything there was to know. He had traveled far and wide, studied ancient texts, and prided himself on his knowledge, never realizing there was magic all around him."

His fingers traced delicate patterns on your skin as he spoke, sending a shiver down your spine. "But one day, he met a woman who showed him that there was still so much wonder left to discover. A woman who saw the world differently. She had eyes that sparkled with ancient wisdom and a voice that could bring long-forgotten tales to life."

You felt your breath catch in your throat, recognizing yourself in his words. Arthur's gaze was intense, filled with an emotion you couldn't quite name.

"This woman," he continued, his voice soft and reverent, "she opened his eyes to a world of wonder he had never known existed. She spoke of gods and heroes, of love and betrayal, of triumph and tragedy. And as she spoke, the world around them seemed to shimmer with possibility."

The setting sun cast a warm glow across Arthur's face, turning his eyes to liquid gold. "With every story she told, every myth she unravelled, the man fell deeper under her spell. He found himself looking forward to their moments together, eager to hear what new tale she would weave. And as the days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, he realized that the magic he sought wasn't just in her stories - it was in her."

Arthur's voice grew softer, more intimate, as he continued. "He saw how her eyes lit up when she spoke of Aphrodite's beauty, how her hands danced through the air as she described Hermes' swift flight. He noticed the way she bit her lip when she was deep in thought, trying to remember some obscure detail of a lesser-known myth."

You felt your heart quicken as Arthur spoke, his words painting a picture that was achingly familiar. His hand moved to cup your cheek once more, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin.

"And then one day," he murmured, "as the sun was setting just like this, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink, he realized something. He realized that all the epic love stories she had told him - Eros and Psyche, Orpheus and Eurydice, even Zeus and his many conquests - paled in comparison to how he felt about her. The way his heart raced when she smiled, how his skin tingled at her touch, the warmth that bloomed in his chest when she laughed - it was a magic more powerful than any myth or legend."

Arthur's voice grew tender, his eyes shimmering with emotion. "He realized that she had become his Ariadne's thread, guiding him through the labyrinth of life. She was his Persephone, bringing light and life to his world. She was his muse, inspiring him to see beauty and wonder in every moment."

As he spoke, the last rays of sunlight painted the room in a soft, golden glow. The light caught in your hair, creating a halo effect that took Arthur's breath away. He paused for a moment, drinking in the sight of you.

"And so," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "the man decided to write his own myth. A story of two souls finding each other, of hearts beating in sync, of love as timeless as the tales of old."

Your breath caught in your throat as Arthur leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours."In this story," he murmured, "the man realizes that the greatest adventure, the most magical journey, is the one he's embarking on with her."

Your heart raced as Arthur's words washed over you, each syllable resonating deep within your soul. The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you suspended in this moment, bathed in the dying light of day.

"He sees that every day with her is like turning a new page in an epic tale," Arthur continued, his voice low and tender. "Each shared laugh, each quiet moment, each passionate debate about the meaning behind an ancient myth - it all weaves together to create a tapestry more beautiful than any he's ever seen."

His hand moved to cup the back of your neck, fingers tangling gently in your hair. "And as he looks into her eyes, he sees galaxies of stories yet untold, constellations of dreams waiting to be explored together."

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the emotion in Arthur's voice, in his gaze. Your hands moved to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms.

"He realizes," Arthur whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "that he's fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with her. Not just with her stories or her passion, but with every facet of her being."

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure Arthur must hear it. The world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you, the last golden rays of sunlight wrapping around you like a cocoon.

"In this moment," Arthur continued, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, "he wants nothing more than to be a part of her story. To write chapters with her, to face whatever challenges may come, to celebrate every triumph and weather every storm by her side."

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion in Arthur's words, in his eyes. He caught the tear with his thumb, his touch impossibly gentle.

"And so," he murmured, "he decides to take a leap of faith, just like the heroes in her tales. To be brave, to open his heart, and to tell her how he feels."

Your heart pounded in your chest, Arthur's words echoing in your mind. The room seemed to hold its breath, time suspended in this magical moment between you.

"And what did the woman say?" you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

Arthur's eyes sparkled, a tender smile playing on his lips. "Well," he murmured, "that's where our story diverges from the ancient myths. Because in this tale, the ending hasn't been written yet." His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin. "You tell me. What does the woman say?"

For a moment, you were speechless, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion swirling within you. The setting sun painted the room in hues of gold and rose, casting a warm glow over Arthur's face. In that light, you could see every fleck of colour in his eyes, every line etched by laughter and contemplation.

Your mind raced through all the myths and legends you had shared with him over the months. You thought of Orpheus braving the underworld for Eurydice, of Psyche completing impossible tasks to be reunited with Eros, of Odysseus journeying for years to return to his beloved Penelope. All these tales of love and devotion swirled in your mind, but none seemed to capture the depth of what you felt at this moment.

You took a deep breath, your hands moving to cup Arthur's face. The warmth of his skin under your palms grounded you and gave you courage.

"In this story," you began, your voice soft but steady, "the woman realizes that she's been weaving her own tale all along, without even knowing it. Every myth she's shared, every legend she's brought to life, has been leading her to this moment."

Your hands moved to cup Arthur's face, mirroring his gentle touch. "She sees that the magic she's always sought in ancient stories has been right here all along, in the way he listens, in the warmth of his embrace, in the depth of his understanding."

"She realizes," you continued, your thumbs gently caressing his cheek “that she's been falling in love too, with every shared moment, every exchanged glance, every passionate discussion. She sees that this man has become her Hades, not in darkness but in depth - in the profound way he sees her, understands her, cherishes her."

Arthur's eyes widened, a spark of hope igniting in their depths. His hands moved to your waist, holding you closer as if afraid you might disappear.

"She realizes," you continued once more, your voice growing stronger with each word, "that their story is one for the ages. Not because of grand quests or divine interventions, but because of the quiet magic they create together. The way he makes her laugh, the comfort she finds in his arms, the spark that ignites when their minds connect over shared passions."

Your fingers traced the contours of Arthur's face, memorizing every line and plane. "She sees their future unfolding like a tapestry, woven with threads of shared adventures and quiet moments. Mornings spent discussing philosophy over coffee, evenings curled up reading to each other, weekends exploring ancient ruins and bringing history to life."

Arthur's breath hitched, his hands tightening slightly at your waist. The room around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you suspended in this moment,

"In this moment," you whispered, your forehead resting against his, "she realizes that all the love stories she's ever told pale in comparison to the one she's living. That the greatest myth, the most powerful magic, is the connection between two hearts beating in sync."

Your eyes locked with Arthur's, and in that moment, it felt as if the very fabric of reality shifted around you. The room seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light, reminiscent of the golden glow that surrounded the gods in ancient tales. You could almost hear the whisper of the Fates, weaving this moment into the tapestry of your lives.

"She knows," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, "that this is her odyssey, her great adventure. Not across wine-dark seas or through monster-filled islands, but through the landscape of the heart. A journey more perilous and more rewarding than any faced by the heroes of old."

As you spoke, the last rays of the setting sun painted the room in a kaleidoscope of colours. The warm light caught in Arthur's hair, creating a halo effect that reminded you of the radiance of Apollo. His eyes, fixed on yours, seemed to hold entire galaxies within their depths.

"She understands now," you continued, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, "that every story she's ever told has been preparing her for this moment. Every tale of love and loss, of triumph and tragedy, has been teaching her how to open her heart, how to be brave in the face of uncertainty, how to recognize true love when it stands before her."

Your hands moved to rest on Arthur's chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. It was a rhythm that seemed to echo through your own body, as if your very souls were in sync.

"And so," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion, "she says yes. Yes to this adventure, yes to writing their own epic tale together, yes to a love that rivals any myth."

Arthur's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, a smile of pure joy spreading across his face. The room around you seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy, as if the very air was alive with the magic of this moment.

"Yes," he breathed, his voice filled with wonder and reverence. "Yes to all of it?."

As if moved by an invisible force, you both leaned in closer, your noses brushing. The air between you crackled with electricity, reminiscent of Zeus's thunderbolts. Your heart raced, pounding a rhythm as old as time itself.

"Arthur," you murmured, your fingers tangling in his hair, "I love you. Not just as Penelope loved Odysseus or as Psyche loved Eros, but in a way that's uniquely ours. A love that's both ancient and new, timeless and immediate."

His hands tightened at your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. "And I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with a reverence that made your heart soar. "With every fiber of my being, with every beat of my heart, I love you."

As you gazed into each other's eyes, the air between you crackled with anticipation, electric and alive. A silent conversation passing between you in that infinite moment. Then, as if drawn by an irresistible force, you both leaned in.

Your lips met in a kiss that sent shockwaves through your entire being. It was soft at first, a gentle press, like the first brush of sunlight at dawn. But then it deepened, becoming something more profound, more passionate. Arthur's hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, while your fingers tangled in his hair.

The kiss was everything you had ever dreamed of and more. It was Aphrodite's blessing and Eros's arrow, a divine union of souls. You tasted the sweetness of ambrosia on his lips, felt the strength of Hercules in his embrace. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only this moment, this connection.

As you kissed, you could almost hear the Muses singing, their celestial voices weaving a melody of love and destiny. The room filled with a golden light, reminiscent of the radiance of Mount Olympus itself. It was as if the gods themselves were blessing your union, creating a private universe just for the two of you.

In that moment, you understood how Zeus must have felt when he first laid eyes on Hera, how Hades was so captivated by Persephone that he reshaped the very laws of nature to be with her.

In that moment it felt like you understood everything.

[vervainandspritz]

THE EDGE OF DARKNESS

Thomas Shelby x Stepdaughter!Reader

Warnings: taboo, DARK!, smut

A/N: The song mentioned in the fic is "Till Death Do Us Part" By Peter Gundry. This fic is for Halloween, and there will be a few more dark ones. Enjoy.

Inspired by @majortom1947 request

His focus drifted away once again, almost driving him mad. Tommy slowly let go of the pen he held in his tense hand, dropping it on the stack of documents that sat firmly on the dark desk. The room was filled with nothing but quiet sounds of glass meeting wood every few minutes, as the stocky bottle of whiskey emptied in an impressive time. His usually calm and steady breath hitched in his throat followed by an exhale, making him sound almost like a martyr.

Wide, intimidating silhouette of a strong man behind the desk wouldn't give it away, but his head felt heavy, yet was spinning with the troubles burdened upon his shoulders. His wife's harsh words rang loudly in his ears causing nothing but annoyance and burning frustration under his skin. As the time passed between his fingers, loose as sand, the reason for their marriage faded so successively, he could barely remember it. She couldn't be further away from his idea for a perfect or even remotely good wife, but he did what he had to. Like always. Her Romani upbringing and a tight bond with the Gold family left him with little to no choice after Arthur refused to take this responsibility upon himself.

When it came to heavy weights, it was always left for Tommy to handle. Fucking always.

Letting out a deep breath, Thomas leaned back in his comfortable seat, popping a few buttons of his shirt open, as he carelessly tossed his red tie aside. In the comfort of his office, Tommy let his mind wander towards the thoughts so unwanted and forbidden, they rarely were present outside of his space. Knowing his own weakness, Thomas ground his teeth for a short moment at the realisation of how his control started slipping away. The farther down the rabbit hole his brain went, the stronger the burning bothered him.

After years of letting his manly urges slowly starve to death, dealing with the humiliation and frustration that came with being married to a woman so insufferable, she managed to kill his sex drive, THE thought didn't come unnoticed.

At first, it came and went. The next time it happened, Thomas’ eyes wandered to HER pale legs for a little too long before blinking the infatuation away. After that point… he lost count. He was only a man, after all.

Squeezing the bridge of his nose, Tommy breathed in deeply, silently cursing out the headaches he's been dealing with lately. Tommy imagined the smoke from his cigarette filling his body with hope of cleansing him from all thoughts of Y/N.

The hope died pretty quickly, as it tended to happen for people like him: people stained with burdening responsibilities and the weight of the world on their back.

As her image simmered behind his closed eyelids, his brows furrowed in worry.

What a beautiful distraction she was. A forbidden fruit, an evil snake from the depths of Eden, poking on his self-control and morals, whispering unacceptable yet impossibly beautiful ideas straight into his ear, driving the poor man mad. Leaving him burning hot and yearning for her touch. She tempted him with her beauty everyday for the last year. Her beautiful, innocent eyes, which looked nothing like her mother's. Her eyes weren’t tainted by greed and the dark shadow of death, which surely came from years of living in Birmingham. Lurking for people at every turn.

Y/N was different. She was raised away from dingy cities, in fields and forests, travelling from town to town with her father and rest of the family. Y/N lived far away from her sad excuse of a mother, yet still ended up having to suffer her presence once Patrick Y/L/N lost his battle to cancer. Not even the strongest of Romani spells could stand a chance against a body leaning so hard towards the path of self-destruction.

That's how she ended up here, at Arrow House with a disgraceful mother and stepfather who was barely present and silently pining after her.

The sweet girl grew to trust him, after several months of avoiding him.

Thomas didn't mind it at the beginning. He had no interest in fathering an adult whom he was closer with in age than with his own wife.

Y/N soon learned after moving to Arrow House that her mother had little to no interest in getting to know her, at any level that matters. The important thing was to present herself well in front of people, the audience, as she liked to call them. The audience watched every move of the Shelby family quite carefully. If Marilyn Shelby was anything more than shallow, it was definitely demanding. For peace, Thomas had no issues in letting her spend his money left and right, as long as it kept her mouth shut. With practically nobody left to trust, Y/N started appreciating Tommy's presence, even if it was entirely silent.

That's how the first two months passed. They lived their lives around each other without more than a few words when necessary, yet his presence became associated with peace and safety in her inexperienced mind. His stillness and calm, husky voice was a source of much needed comfort.

With each passing day, her trust grew as she let the guard down, Y/N’s body language clearly changed, not going unnoticed to Tommy’s bright knowing eyes

Suddenly, a loud knock on the door echoed throughout the spacious room, violently ripping Thomas’ hazy mind out of the infatuating thoughts.

“Tommy?” He heard from the door, and his head turned to face her. There she stood, barefoot, wrapped in a robe at least two sizes too big for her thin frame. Her long hair flowed down her back. Y/N’s intense gaze left him burning again, as Thomas cleared his throat.

“Come in, angel” He let out, his eyes grazing over her skin. He was braver than usual, the alcohol in his bloodstream made it more difficult to keep his painful desire hidden.

Without a thought, Y/N closed the door behind her back, making her way through the office, slumping on the chair in front of his desk. Her eyes were absent, not meeting his gaze even once as she silently looked around his desk. “What's burdening your mind?” His voice cut the air like a knife, making her finally look at him.

Y/N’s big eyes seemed teary, making his heart stop for a second as he sat up straighter in the armchair. When his brows furrowed impatiently, the dam broke and quiet sobs pushed past her lips.

Watching her slowly break apart, Thomas ran a hand through his hair before getting up and rounding the desk, eventually taking his place on the edge of it. Leaning down, his rough hand came to rest on her shoulder. He wanted nothing but to feel her close and now was a perfect occasion.

Upon feeling his touch, Y/N suddenly rose from her seat, stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around his core, seeking comfort. This Tommy did not expect.

His breath hitched and his brain was barely able to process the heat of her body pressed to his own. He trembled slightly and hoped she wouldn’t notice. A couple moments later he embraced her carefully, like she was made of porcelain, able to be shattered into a million pieces if held too tightly.

“She… She said it's over. That I've lived here long enough to figure out my life without depending on her—your money.” Her voice was quiet, fragile even. The genuine fear and urgency she held him with, made Tommy's heart beat faster. His other hand came to rest on the back of her head, petting it slowly as she continued at her own pace. “I’m… I'm not ready but—but I know she's right, I shouldn't… be here that long.” Y/N kept mumbling as her forehead pressed into his shirt covered collarbone. His hands’ movement came to a stop at her words. Tommy slowly peeled her away as his fingers grasped her chin. His gaze fell to her soft pink lips and he immediately regretted it as his mouth went dry for a second. Regaining his composure, he spoke.

“Angel, your home is here. You're not going anywhere anytime soon, and your mother is… not in charge. Not under my roof, eh?” His voice was deep, a little too deep for his liking even, as Tommy tried to light up the mood slightly. Not wanting her to see the way his pupils dilated seeing her so close. The way his breathing got deeper, chest raising and falling visibly. Her lips just a small reach away, tempting him like never before. The stirring in his lower stomach made it difficult to think, but Tommy knew one thing for sure, and it was that he wouldn't let her leave. Not his Angel.

~~

The next couple days Thomas tried to spend more time at home than in his office, knowing how Y/N needed him to be around. The more time they spent around each other, the less guilt he felt.

He liked it. He liked looking with desire, and not feeling burdened with guilt. Looking in her eyes during the late nights spent in his office, slumped in the chair which she called hers already.

And he? He didn't mind, not one bit. Deep down, he thought about it more than he should have. Even if she felt like calling HIM her own, Tommy wouldn't mind.

Driving back home, the gravelly road scritched under the heavy weight of his car, small turbulence in the cabin making no difference, as he barely paid attention to the road.

Only when the high, black fence started showing from around the corner, he forced himself to focus. Taking the right turn, smoothly getting on his property. The shaking of the car fading into oblivion as the gravel road turned into expensive tiles by the mansion.

He thought he had more time to solve the issue, Thomas thought, as a suitcase fell out of the window, missing his Bentley by less than ten inches.

Eyeing the mess, he mentally prepared himself for what to expect after crossing the entrance. Grabbing his suitcase, he swiftly got out of the car, quickly making his way to the door before getting inside. The screaming and Marilyn's high pitched, dramatic voice could be heard even before he opened the door.

Without a second thought, he climbed the stairs as the two women came into the view. Marilyn held tightly onto her daughter's hair, pulling down clearly, judging from Y/N’s pained expression as she sobbed.

“Enough!” Thomas boomed, quickly grabbing onto his wife's wrist, his rough, calloused hand squeezing so tightly it surely would leave bruises. The older woman gasped, pulling her hand back as she took a step back. Her eyes narrowed as soon as her eyes fell on his face, gazing with contempt and anger.

“This little whore stole my pearls! I found them in her room!” She growled, clutching the jewellery close to her chest as she tried to lunge forward again, stopped by Tommy's broad chest. “If I see her in this house by tomorrow, I'm going to put her down like a bloody dog, Thomas! Tomorrow!” She kept yelling, but he could still hear the quiet sobbing from the woman behind him. Y/n cried, holding onto her scalp that burned hellishly. Bruises on her face already getting darker while heavy tears decorated her beautiful face one after the other with no end.

Tommy's blood boiled, veins on his neck protruding from the heated anger he felt deep inside. His self-control ran thin as his hands shook with the urge.

“Y/N, go to your room.” He instructed, in a demanding voice. One of his hands sneaked back to give her small fingers a knowing squeeze. Feeling it, she nodded, wiping her tears away as she slowly let go of the material from the back of his coat.

Marilyn's cold, green eyes followed after her daughter, contempt and hatred visible. She hated how much attention she stole from Tommy ever since appearing in Arrow house. She hated how much money he kept spending on her.

Marilyn felt robbed, like it all belonged to her.

Jealousy rushed through her veins, even though her heart was stone cold. No feelings for Thomas Shelby were held, but she claimed rights to him nevertheless. After all, It was impossible to love people like him anyway, right? Marilyn thought.

Her hand met his cheek with a loud slap, as she took a step forward. Looking him in the eyes she felt the upper hand.

“You think I'm fucking stupid? Don't you think I see the way you look at this little whore?” She hissed with poison, her red smeared lipstick making her look even less approachable than usually. “If I see her here in the morning, all Birmingham will know about your perverted urges.” She finished with a whisper, her shaky hand petting his cheek mockingly, not caring about the way he… watched her. Blue colour long gone, replaced by the deep shade of the night sky.

Only then her heart skipped a beat as she realised she took a step too far. Shallow breath pushing past her lips. Eyes widened with confusion, pierced with fear as blood ran cold.

But it was too late.

“Goodnight, Marilyn”

~~

Y/N lay in her bed, clock ticking in the background, reminding her of how late it was. Darkness swallowing every inch of the room besides a small stream of light coming through the window from the street lamp. Heart thumping in her chest the only sound she could hear… before the music started playing. The melody grew louder, the familiar rhythm echoing upstairs coming from the gramophone standing in the corner of the corridor. A song she knew all too well after spending many quiet nights in Thomas' office. Note by note the tension increased with the tempo of the piano playing, coming to a peak as the door creaked open, barely noticeable in the dark.

Her eyes, used to the darkness already, noticed the flash of blue irises and the silhouette she knew too well. Breath hitched in her throat with each step he took.

Second by second, note by note. When the song abruptly came to a halt, his hands touched her face. His face hovered over her own, lips so close she could see every detail.

“Tommy” She breathed out softly, but before Y/N could continue, the song resounded again, almost like urging him to move faster. The tension broke, tearing a painfully deep sigh from his throat as his chapped lips pressed against her own. Y/N’s eyes squeezed shut, taken aback by the boldness of his actions. Her lack of experience creeping up her spine, causing anxiety but Thomas didn't give her enough space to dwell on the details. Crushing all of them with his touch, touching each and every inch of her soft skin with his calloused hands, causing some discomfort which he immediately softened with kisses. Music in the background seemed to set the pace, and as the thempo increased, his touch grew impatient.

“We—We can't” She managed to whisper, even though her throat was dry with a need she didn't understand.

“It's just us, angel. Me and you” He growled, his eyes holding the wilderness he was unable to hold back after all this time. His body tense and firm like a statue, as he kept moulding her flesh to his liking… and she let him, because Y/N didn't know any better. She didn't want to know any better.

Some sudden sounds kept piercing the music, catching Y/N’s attention for a millisecond before he'd make her forget again, touching and pulling needily. Soon enough her body was bare for him to take. Greedy eyes taking in every detail he could see in the dark, swallowing every sound from her mouth, stroking her womanhood skillfully, wanting nothing but to worship every soft, welcoming inch of her perfect heat.

“Just me and you” He echoed, grabbing both of her wrists and pinning them softly above her head, taking control of her along with the situation.

Music seemed to be never ending, as he slipped into her body, stretching and pushing his way into the space he claimed for himself only. Her innocence taken away so abruptly and harshly, yet she never felt so loved and wanted before.

“Tommy, I–” She moaned, head lifting off the bed to find his lips, which he immediately understood, giving into every need and every urge.

Spending all the strength he had to give her time, and not let the animalistic urges take over fully, as she needed… guidance.

“I know” he responded, moving slowly, feeling as she successively accepted his cock, relaxing into his arms and whimpering beautifully.

He was patient, slow and understanding… until he couldn't anymore, moving increasingly faster and harder, his hands squeezing her wrists a little too tight but they were both lost. Lost in the forbidden dance led by the embers smouldering in their chests, intensified by the music they both heard. Tangled in the forbidden, breathtakingly beautiful dance.

Y/N let him paw at her skin needily, pushing into her deep and fast, taking everything he needed. Lost in the experience and in the intense being that Thomas Shelby was.

Maybe if she was just a little less gone, a little more meticulous, she'd notice the dark red stains on his shirt.

The raw obsession in his touch ever since he held her for the first time so innocently. The metallic scent of blood on his skin.

Tommy couldn't let anything and anyone separate them, after all.

Devil and his angel.